


Anti-stress therapy

by Falconette



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aged Up, College, F/M, NSFW, Romance, Smut, blowjob, handjob, secretive
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-22
Updated: 2020-10-24
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:34:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27153898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Falconette/pseuds/Falconette
Summary: You are a manager of Bokuto’s college volleyball team with a low-key interest in the ace, deciding to help him deal with stress when you discovered he was a lost cause. Lots of smut and mixed feelings.
Relationships: Bokuto Koutarou/Reader
Comments: 13
Kudos: 126





	1. Changing room

**Anti-stress therapy**

Chapter 1

“Get yourself together, man!” the captain hissed through his teeth at Bokuto, concerned that the rival team would get a hunch that something was off, “You will never go pro this way!”

He shouldn’t have bothered; the signs that the ace wasn’t having his day were clear for anyone with eyes to see. His approach was plainly counter-productive, but I couldn’t blame our captain for trying. He was getting desperate and was losing patience with Bokuto’s volatile performances and bizarre excuses.

“I just don’t feel like myself today…” the crestfallen star player offered a mumbled explanation, not really proposing a solution. He was clearly in distress himself, unable to escape the loop of misses and blunders that plagued his play today. By the way things were going, not only will our team lose this game, but the one that followed was also seriously jeopardized.

When Bokuto was on a roll, there was no wall he couldn’t tear down, but when he was out of his element, any attempt to coax or force him to be even the shadow of his best self was futile. We already knew his performance fluctuated when he joined our college team, but at that time we were so thrilled to have the promising superstar on our roster, we didn’t really care.

We did care now, when our score against mediocre adversaries spelled defeat.

The team shot him exasperated looks in frustrated resignation, already regrouping to play without the ace. There was nothing more the captain and the coach could do, but to bench Bokuto.

The ace accepted his fate with slumped shoulders, sighing heavily. He sat down, reaching for his water bottle and, realizing too late that the cap was unscrewed, poured the contents all over his jersey and shorts, earning new reprimanding looks from his teammates before they focused on the game again.

Today he just didn’t seem to be able to do anything right.

Sitting close to him, I handed him a towel, feeling sorry for the guy. He was an honest type who always said exactly what he meant, for better or for worse, and didn’t seem to know the meaning of the word ‘mean’. In a way, he was the purest guy I knew, and I hung around a lot of volleyball players. It was hard to stay angry at him so when he just took the offered towel and kept dazedly staring at the floor, I could not help but pat his shoulder.

“Bokuto kun, maybe you should clean yourself up…” I suggested quietly, my voice lost in the noise of the game and cheering of the crowd. Most eyes were focused on the active players but, as the team manager, I couldn’t have someone spotting and photographing our dejected ace drenched in water. He and the team would become a laughing stock in no time.

Bokuto looked at me like he only now became aware of my presence, blinking sheepishly. He was obviously somewhere else in his head, replaying his blunders and dragging himself down the spiral of despair. In his eyes I saw that he was in real pain, aware he was letting the whole team down and unable to express or fix himself. It looked worse than I thought so I decided to try a different tactic.

“Come, spare shirts are in the changing room,” I said and stood up, prompting him to follow me. I visually checked with the coach who nodded, granting us permission to leave. He had more pressing things at hand; the game was not really going our way. Maybe Bokuto just needed some real time-out to recalibrate himself. At any rate, it couldn’t hurt to try.

I pushed the heavy door to the volleyball court open and let it shut after Bokuto passed through, walking like a man stepping in front of a firing squad. He, who lived on attention of the crowd and the atmosphere of a game, was reluctant to leave the action but he couldn’t really protest. He didn’t deserve to be on the court or anywhere near it.

As soon as the door swung closed and the noises became muffled sounds, Bokuto let out a heavy sigh.

“I really messed it up this time…” he said to no one in particular, pinching the soaked shirt on his chest and pulling it away from his skin, unaware of my gaze that got lost in the deep, accentuated crevice between his pectoral muscles. I was seeing him every day and still haven’t gotten enough of the sight. The owner of the impressive physique however seemed to be completely unaware of the body he possessed.

“It will be alright, they will pull through,” I said emphatically, walking beside him down the corridor and fishing out keys from my pocket. I hoped I could get through to him.

“Everyone will hate me,” Bokuto continued to shake the pinched wet fabric, and his head, his voice morose, “How could I have missed that cross??”

“You will get it another time, just don’t think too much about it,” I unlocked the door to the changing room to let him in, wondering if the ace should play today after all. He never seemed so sullen before and I feared he might lose his confidence for good.

“Where are my things?” Bokuto’s voice trailed from the inside, sounding lost. I peeked in to find him looking around the bags and equipment like a helpless puppy.

“Well, where did you leave them?” my voice strained to sound patient, but the sight of the tall man so utterly defeated stung. He just shrugged, seeming ready to give up everything.

I liked his open, harmless nature and knew he had no defenses against his dark and pessimistic moments. He plainly needed help, so I got in and sought through the sports bags until I located his.

“There,” I handed him a clean shirt, and Bokuto, without giving it a single thought, peeled his wet one off right in front of me, granting me a gratuitous view of his chiseled torso. So hot, yet so clueless.

“Look,” he said quietly, sitting on a bench after he changed shirts, “I don’t want to go back just yet. Leave the key and I will lock up after.”

I sat down next to him, folding his wet jersey, “You will have to face them again anyway. It will only be harder if you linger here.”

“I won’t be long,” he persisted. Bokuto was not a solitary guy so I wondered if today’s results pushed him off the edge somehow. Him, the diva, requesting to be left alone was highly suspicious.

“I will stay with you, if you don’t feel like going back,“ I offered gently, not really minding. I wanted to get to know him better anyway, but something about my presence seemed to cause him discomfort. “Just take your time to calm down.”

“I am just too nervous,” he rested his big palms on the knee guards he wore, his long fingers tapping the padding in an agitated rhythm, “I have to take the edge off.”

“How do you do that?” I asked, genuinely interested, trying to chat him up and make him forget about the botched game. Was he going to do an exercise routine? Meditate? Anything that could turn this negative tide around is bound to be miraculous.

“Y-you wouldn’t understand…” Bokuto mumbled, his eyes pointedly avoiding me. “You’re a girl.”

I blinked couple of times, utterly baffled. Only when I noticed the crimson tide spreading across his face, did it dawn onto me what he had in mind when he said he needed some privacy. In hindsight, it was just like Bokuto to have no concept of sharing too much information with a random acquaintance.

Maybe not a completely random one, I mused.

By his stiff body language, Bokuto was clearly set on not making another eye contact with me, so I deliberated what to say in order not to make things any weirder.

“Ummm…” I shifted, not wanting to make him feel more embarrassed or a situation more awkward. If it was anyone else, I would already be out of the door but this turn of events strangely tempted me. Relationships between team members were frowned upon and that was the sole reason why I didn’t try to get any closer to Bokuto before, but it was no coincidence we were together in this room, alone. Maybe nothing will ever happen between us, but I didn’t think I could forgive myself if I let this chance go.

It seemed I could get more than a peek at his skin today.

“Look,” I put his folded shirt slowly aside, talking unhurriedly, “I can help with that, if you want me to.”

Against his will, his wide, golden eyes darted towards me, carefully examining my face.

“I don’t think you understood…” he moved his lips, but I interjected.

“I did, clearly.”

Bokuto closed his mouth but his eyes continued staring in disbelief. He didn’t move away or say another word, so after a few long moments, I added, “Or I can go and leave you the keys.”

It was up to him and I truly hoped he wouldn’t say ‘no’. Not just because I would feel like a fool, but because I wanted to believe all those accidental touches and accidental sitting next to each other on trains or training wasn’t all that accidental after all.

It occurred to me that maybe he wasn’t even consciously aware that he was seeking my proximity, being the kind that simply followed his impulses without deeper introspection.

“Don’t go,” almost without a voice, his lips moved. The golden eyes took in my lips, nose, made eye contact, “You would do that? For me?”

“I will just lend you a hand, so to speak,” I smiled an assuring affirmation and put my palm on his kneepad. There was no skin-on-skin touch, but it was enough for the barrier between us to fall. Bokuto twisted his body towards me and nervously licked his lips.

“C-can we turn the lights off?” there was a jittery but definitely invested undertone in his voice. He didn’t seem to have much experience with girls and the shyness made him unexpectedly charming, “I-I don’t think I can do it with you watching.”

I nodded and Bokuto got up with surprising agility, flipping the switch and coating the room in welcome darkness.

“You might want to turn the key, too,” I said to the void, feeling the atmosphere become strangely intimate. I had no idea where Bokuto was, but I soon heard the clicking of the lock mechanism.

“Right, smart,” his edgy voice closed in on me and I felt him return to sit next to me. There was a pause. The team waited for our return, we both knew we did not have much time. “Are you sure about this?”

“Yes,” I smiled and that seemed to reassure him, because I promptly heard shuffling sounds and felt the bench vibrate beneath us. After a moment he stilled and carefully said, “Umm, I am ready so…”

I blindly reached forward and touched his naked thigh, the taut muscle warm under my touch. He stirred, probably as jittery as I was at the strange sensation. I felt the edge of his long kneepads and slid my fingers towards his inner thigh, into the invisible heat, until I touched his cock.

Semi-hard and smooth, it reacted and twitched when caressed by my hand. Next to me, Bokuto’s breathing became audible and he stirred, pressing his legs together, adjusting himself to the reach of my fingers. I took the time to feel up his shape and size, burning to see the thing I was holding even for a second. By my blind guess, this man had nothing to be ashamed of, especially when he became fully erect.

My fingers fondled him casually until the body next to me became restless. Bokuto’s arm discreetly hugged my waist but he didn’t do it to feel me up, only bring me a little closer, making the shared experience less a formality and more akin to something a couple would do. I accepted his invitation to scoot closer together, leaning against the curves of his shoulder and biceps, sensing the faint aroma of his sweat.

It made me flustered and I gave his cock a squeeze, eliciting a grunt from Bokuto’s chest. Coating fingers of my other hand with saliva, I transferred it to the tip of his penis, preparing it for more vigorous handling. This was so unreal, me jerking Bokuto off during a game – a thought that made me exhilarated. I heard another groan escape his mouth and I rewarded him with one more tantalizing squeeze. The pulsating in the member I held reverberated through my palm, kindling all kinds of naughty fantasies within me.

Steadily quickening the tempo, I tuned my ears to the sounds he was making and my skin to his movements, the two senses being my only guides to Bokuto’s reactions in darkness. For somebody who was usually loud, he was surprisingly discreet, but I knew I was doing something right when his arm inadvertently pulled me closer to his body. I put more pressure into my grip, just enough to make him lose his breath again.

The sound of his sighs soon accompanied the wet rhythmic noises and by tensing of his muscles I sensed he was getting close to his release. I bit my lip and changed hands, giving him the slow and easy treatment again, working my way up to fast-paced jerking. Bokuto responded predictably, relaxing and then tensing up again, getting ready to blow. His arm around me embraced me tighter, trembling with anticipation. So I again halted.

This time, he was having none of it.

“Please,” he whispered in a raspy, pleading voice somewhere close to my ear, “I need this…”

“Okay,” I whispered back, aroused by his hot breath against my skin. I started purposefully pumping and he groaned despite himself, making me squeeze my thighs together in a flash of heat.

He was so close we were almost touching in utter darkness, until his lips suddenly melted into mine with determination, despite his quick, shallow breaths as he rushed towards the edge. The sensation of gentle affection flooded through me.

I kissed him back and pushed him down the waterfall of pleasure, feeling his hot semen spurt all over my fingers and his thighs while he muffled a moan.

Taking a moment to collect himself, he panted against my neck, waiting for his pulse to calm down. The cock in my hand went limp and I let it go, unsure if it was ok to move away abruptly.

“Thanks,” a vibrant, winded voice said quietly in my ear. His arm was still around me and by now he must have become aware of the touch. “Go on, I will join you when I clean up.”

“O-ok,” I nodded and stood up unsurely, sliding the wet shirt down the bench towards Bokuto. The aftermath broke the magic of the moment and, suddenly, everything seemed out of place, “Umm, you can use this.”

“Aright, thanks,” he responded and I shuffled in the direction of the door, careful to turn the key and press the handle with my clean hand.

Emerging into the light, I found my heart pounding wildly. There were people about, dressed in various team colors, but luckily there was no one with our jersey in sight. I honestly don’t know what kind of explanation I could have offered if someone confronted me.

Finding the nearest toilet, I washed away the sole proof of the crazy thing the two of us just did and ran to join the team in the main hall.

The noisy crowd and reflectors, so different from a dark changing room, brought me back into the world of competitive volleyball and I was delighted to see that our team had managed to tip the scales. The coach cast me an inquisitive glance and I just motioned towards the door, mouthing: “He’s coming. Toilet.”

That satisfied his curiosity and nobody else seemed to notice your extended absence.

After awhile, Bokuto joined you with brisk strides, his hair fixed up, a wide smile on his face, glowing with a different energy.

“Whooaa! We did it!“ he shouted when he saw the scoreboard and punched a fist in the air, eliciting looks from the entire team. “Good job, guys!”

The coach and the captain exchanged glances and the latter imperceptibly nodded.

“Alright Bokuto, you’re in,” the coach barked, making a note in his records. “This is the final set so don’t go easy on them.”

“The last chance to score in this game, eh?” Bokuto performed couple of high jumps with his knees drawn to his chest, more to contain his abundant energy than to warm up.

“Let’s go get them!” He roared sporting a feral gleam, surprising both his teammates and his opponents with his newfound confidence. He was a force to be reckoned with.

Cheering from the sidelines, I couldn’t help but think how powerful he looked, the man who was putty in my hands only a few minutes ago. The ferocious strength Bokuto displayed while dominating the court with his projectiles, the energetic jumps and his keen awareness of the field indicated I _did_ get through to him, only not the way I originally intended.

As I watched my teammates win this and the next game, it was not the secretive deed that returned to my mind again and again, but the unplanned, stolen kiss.


	2. Girls toilet

Chapter 2

In retrospect, I don’t know what was I thinking, proposing a hand job to a fellow teammate.

Yeah, I did find him attractive but not all fantasies should be realized, right?

I pegged Bokuto as the impulsive type, but I was the one who suggested that crazy, _crazy_ thing as if I didn’t know that life was not a porn movie and that it went on even after the deed. Afterward, all I could think of were the consequences.

At first I was anxious that Bokuto would brag to everyone who cared to listen about the special treatment he received from the team manager. In fact, I was completely certain that I will be met with taunting looks and smirks from my teammates when I showed up for the first practice session after the game. However, no matter how hard I tried to read any meaning in their comments or actions, I couldn’t detect anything. Nobody had a clue.

Then I started worrying that Bokuto would treat me differently, labeling me as one of those girls who casually engaged with any guy who so much as winked at them. When I did meet him, however, he gave me the same energetic ‘hi’ and went back to his damn ball, as if nothing happened between us.

Of course, nothing _did_ happen, but… Why did he kiss me then? Maybe he was trying to make the already weird situation less awkward?

That idea left a bitter taste in my mouth, especially the memory of how readily I kissed him back.

But Bokuto didn’t seem to have any ideas, as usual, blissfully ignorant and giving his full attention to training and the upcoming game. I sighed as I arranged my papers, recalling that simplicity was exactly the trait that made him stand out in my eyes. Now that it didn’t serve me, I found it hard not to resent it.

The team had four practice sessions before the next game, four full two-hour periods when the guys trained and I helped them with organization and the coach with paperwork. During all that time Bokuto didn’t so much as cast an unnecessary glance in my direction and never once initiated a conversation. I felt worse than invisible, feeling a dagger of anger pointed towards him form inside of me.

His indifference was a surprisingly hard pill to swallow.

* * *

However, on Saturday morning, when the team was taking a commuter train to one of Tokyo suburbs for the next game, I started feeling the weight of Bokuto’s attention on me. It was inconspicuous at first, just a few lingering glances, a direct smile, an unnecessary touch when I handed out maps of venue surroundings. And, just to make sure I wasn’t imagining things, he was standing next to me during the train ride, engaged in a discussion on the game strategy but very, _very_ in my personal space.

Physically, he was a beast, but it was psychological sturdiness that was Bokuto’s weak link. Both the captain and the coach kept a vigil eye on the ace from the early morning, gauging his mental state and, by the looks of it, they had every cause to be worried. Just from the way he took his time deciding what drink to buy from a standard vending machine, unable to complete the simplest task, I knew Bokuto was in one of his lousy moods.

“Not again,” I heard the captain comment in a quiet, exasperated voice to the coach who nodded back with a pensive expression. This was a tournament, not a league game, and every victory counted. When one of the less exposed players was acting up, that wasn’t as bad as when the star threatened to throw a tantrum.

The score, the morale, the reputation – everything was at stake.

Arriving to the destination with a strong feeling of déjà vu, I showed the guys where their changing room was and followed the coach’s long strides to the main hall. In a narrow corridor, as I passed by Bokuto, I could not avoid the persistent look of his intense eyes and couldn’t help noticing the troubled arch of his eyebrows, but I pointedly ignored the signs of his distress. I had a team to handle - I thought with a tint of dark satisfaction - I couldn’t pamper a single player even if it was the ace.

The players soon joined us for warm-ups, all changed into their jerseys and eager to test the unfamiliar venue. Bokuto followed listlessly, trying to get his engines running, but the ball just wouldn’t sit right in his hands and his hits just weren’t precise enough. And the game hasn’t even begun.

I pointedly disregarded his attempts to make an eye contact until he finally came up to me, using the opportunity to rehydrate to voice his troubles.

“I’m feeling a bit off today,” as direct as he dared to be, Bokuto wiped sweat off his forehead to hide the flush on his face that had nothing to do with physical exertion. He was jittery again, so unlike his usual over-confident aura, as he drank the water he didn’t really need. The sight evoked a lost-puppy image in my mind again, but I didn’t let it take root. He was a grown man; he should know how to take care of his emotional states.

“Did you get enough sleep?” I recited the standard questions I would ask any player who complained about his performance, “Eat a good breakfast? Adequately hydrated?”

“It’s not that,” he shook his head, the frustration twisting his eyebrows as he grumbled in a low voice, “I don’t feel right for the game.”

“Maybe you can listen to some upbeat music to get motivated? That helps me,” I suggested neutrally, playing dumb.

“Hey, Bokuto, get over here and work on those spikes!” noticing the ace slacking off, the captain barked from across the court in a no-nonsense voice.

Bokuto let his hands helplessly fall to his sides, his shoulders slumped as he trudged back in. I could empathize to a point, but what was I supposed to do? _That_ was not included in the duties of a team manager.

As other teams and crowd gathered, and the beginning of the first bout neared, our ace was becoming impossible. I observed him tying and re-tying his shoelaces, taking off his jacket and putting it on again, making several trips to the toilet and drinking excessive amounts of canned coffee. In short, he was an accident waiting to happen.

Everyone was exchanging nervous glances and the coach’s face seemed to darken with every passing minute. The captain was pointedly biting his tongue not to lash out at the clueless spiker in order not to make things even worse, but it was a question of time when he would snap.

Studying Bokuto’s profile that sported a worried expression which didn’t suit him at all, I felt a pang of remorse. I liked seeing him in his characteristic larger-than-life pose, ready to take on the whole world, his broad shoulders wide and sturdy. I loved watching him play well, because he brought the game to a whole new level. We had many talented and hard-working players but he, and only he, could soar the heights reserved for the future professional players.

The game ahead was important and we needed this victory to stay in the tournament, but that wasn’t the reason I snuck out and texted Bokuto.

_(Girls toilet in 5)_

As this was a men’s volleyball tournament, there was virtually a handful of other females present among teams’ staff, so the ladies toilet was bound to be deserted. While I waited behind the door, holding my phone in my hands and wondering had I actually lost my mind, I knew this wasn’t the case of taking one for the team.

I had more selfish reasons, recalling how our last tryst left me vaguely aroused and excited. The scent of his body, his proximity, the shaky breaths, the moment he surrendered to my hands… fragments of pleasant memories out staged the bitter ones and I caved in. It was part vanity, too – watching him play afterwards and knowing I had a big part in his phoenix-like comeback.

Just when I was beginning to wonder whether Bokuto read or understood my message, I heard a faint tapping on the door. Guessing there was no one else who would knock on a toilet door, I pushed the door slightly open to let him know I was indeed inside.

Bokuto tentatively stepped in, clearly uncomfortable in a place that was usually forbidden, his big eyes sweeping across the room and then my face in search of confirmation. He opened his mouth to say something but I raised my index finger between us.

“Not a word,” I said quickly in a hushed voice, pulling him by the elbow into the furthest stall with me and locking the door. I didn’t want him asking me any questions, because I sure didn’t have any sane answers.

With the two of us standing face to face in a cramped space, I realized there was no light to turn off here or a bench to sit side by side, so we just let the strange arrangement set in for a moment.

“Aren’t you going to…” I indicated his pants with my chin, avoiding to look into his eyes.

“You don’t have to…” Bokuto began but my reprimanding glare put a quick end to his attempt at a conversation.

“I _know_ that, but now that we are already here, we might as well get it over with,” I mumbled sourly and he obediently nodded, looking away and pulling his shorts down. If it was possible, he seemed even more crestfallen than before.

Without really watching, I groped between his legs and found the dangling cock, feeling the tremor of pleasure go through Bokuto’s massive thighs when I fondled it. He leaned away and rested the back of his head against the tile wall, tilting his chin up and closing his eyes. It was the best he could do to distance himself from my scrutinizing eyes and the improvised shelter.

My fingers got him standing erect and proud in a moment and, fortunately, this time I got to see him in his full glory. Bokuto had a bulky, heavy dick that fit nicely in the palm of my hand and, just like his owner, reacted energetically to my caresses. The ace's chest let out a shaky sigh in response, careful not to make too much noise, lost somewhere behind his closed eyelids.

I started gently but worked up the tempo fast because we really didn’t have time for idling. Bokuto pulled his shirt up, clearing me the way –and granting me a splendid view –and parted his lips in silent waves of delight. His abs were unreal, I longed to run my fingers over their hilly texture but felt I would be transgressing, breaking my own rules.

Expressive as he was, every variation of pleasure could be clearly read in his facial expressions, his body language and his breathing. Knowing I was the one doing this to him, I couldn’t help but lean closer to soak in the scent of his deodorant and skin, feel his body heat. He was getting there, and as my free hand tenderly massaged his scrotum, his half-open mouth couldn’t hold back a deep grunt.

Just then the outside door opened and someone walked in.

I froze and put one of my palms instinctively over Bokuto’s mouth, prompting him to open his eyes as we both tentatively listened to approaching footsteps in utter silence, struggling to keep our breathing quiet. While the person used the stall nearest the entrance, in a bizarre interlude while I held Bokuto’s pulsating erection in my hand, I noticed his eyes hyper-focused on my face. They had the familiar, attentive gleam to them.

Slowly his fingers pried my hand away from his mouth, the moist lips gratefully taking in the fresh air, but his eye contact didn’t waver. Little by little, his face moved towards mine and, although I could have turned aside, moved back or even walked out – hell, I could have punched him in the balls – I let him kiss me, again.

Gentle and exploratory at first, Bokuto’s lips and tongue got bolder, his body incrementally leaning into mine until he had me pinned to the other wall with one of his elbows resting next to my head. Closing my eyes to wholesomely feel the powerful emotions that surged through me, I kept my hand on his cock, now forgotten in the insane moment.

_What the fuck were we doing?_

A rational sliver of my mind kept bringing up the way he indifferently walked past me after the last time we did something of this kind and how that stung. Another part urged me to enjoy the moment while yet another cautioned that someone is bound to notice our conspicuous absence.

_This is too intimate, too close, and personal!_

And yet I kept kissing him back, urging him to continue making me feel electrified all over. We only touched with our lips, our hands staying pointedly out of the picture as per unspoken arrangement. Did that make this less wrong? At some point the unknown visitor left but we didn’t even notice, too entangled in a heated make-out session that came out of nowhere. He didn’t use his fingers but he conveyed his ardor clearly, translating the vigor with which he usually shone into kisses so steamy, my body started yearning for him to touch me.

After awhile, I realized I was still holding him by the dick that ached for a release – the main reason why we were here. I didn’t even have to do much, just a couple of tugs and he was overflowing all over my fingers and onto the floor between our feet. Bokuto climaxed with a grunt, disengaging from my lips and keeping himself upright with his elbow pressed against the wall, a slight frown forming over his closed eyes. When he opened them again, the clear, golden orbs found and held mine for a long moment.

“This was…” his low voice drawled, but the moment had gone for me and I quickly extracted myself from the booth.

“I’ll see you on the court,” I said over the sound of running water while I washed my hands. I felt remorseful for losing control, for letting him make me weak. I didn’t want to be the one who cared, the one who couldn’t separate practicalities from emotions, the one who would get hurt.

I rushed outside before Bokuto managed to clean himself up and emerge from the stall, and during the game sat pointedly at the far end of the bench, away from everyone.

Like last week, Bokuto came out on the court energized and aglow, ripping through his opponent’s defenses like they weren’t there, pleasing the crowd and our teammates. In his triumph, he didn’t spare me one single glance.

Like I wasn’t there either.


	3. Bus

Chapter 3

The next two games were scheduled for the following weekend and, since they took place outside Tokyo, while the boys were busy training I was busy arranging everything for the trip. And avoiding Bokuto.

He shone brightly in the last game, earning hugs and pats on the back from virtually everybody, except me. As before, he didn’t text or call me after our little fun, and neither did he make any extra attempts to socialize, so I was pointedly giving him a wide berth. This time I wasn’t even as angry at him as I was at myself.

Watching him engulfed in practice and interacting with his teammates, seemingly without a care in the world, made my heart sink. I vividly remembered Bokuto’s body maddeningly close to me, his kisses – both the timid and the hungry ones, and the way he looked at me when we were alone. It was surreal, like a parallel reality. I saw a version of him no one else has but I only seemed to exist in his world when he was in a pinch. Was it really just a stress relief for him? Did he think I would be here every time he beckoned?

Even he ought to know that things don’t work like that.

Maybe he could do it, to simply disengage emotions from the task at hand and not give our secret sessions another thought, but I knew _I_ couldn’t. I wasn't going to be anyone's fuck buddy.

* * *

On Monday practice Bokuto still sported the victorious glow, however as days towards the next game passed, he was becoming more sullen and clumsy. Nobody seemed to set the ball right for him, everyone could read his moves and, even when he would hit the spike, it would whizz out of bounds. The more irritated he became, the more engulfed I was into my other duties, keeping the possibility of an interaction to a minimum.

By Wednesday, I was making sure not to be standing alone anywhere Bokuto could approach me, deliberately sabotaging a chance for a private conversation. And he did try. It seemed he was spending more time keeping an eye on sidelines than on the ball, and his scatterbrain demeanor infuriated his teammates. The upcoming games were no joke but the ace didn’t seem to acknowledge the gravity of the situation. It got so bad that the coach allowed Bokuto to play on Saturday only under the condition that he stayed home on Friday to rest, reflect and gather his wits.

I was glad for a day of respite because my resentment gradually morphed into something more sinister.

A mortifying idea slowly formed in my mind and fortified there as days passed and as I watched Bokuto’s mood deteriorate. I came to realize that maybe I conditioned our fickle ace to be abnormally nervous before a game just to get extra attention, anchoring it with the high of a no-strings-attached orgasm, and that was not only unhealthy, but complicated a lot of things for a lot of people. Last but not least – for me.

If I believed the coach would kick me off the team for… associating… with the team’s ace, I didn’t want to imagine what he would do if he figured out I had broken his already baffling psychological mehanism. This went far beyond a volleyball club. Bokuto and I weren’t even dating! The college council would definitely not consider my gratuitous handjobs with a benevolent indulgence and my whole academic success could be in peril.

There was, of course, the issue of Bokuto’s career too. I wanted to tell myself he was responsible for his own under-performance, but when I recalled his trusting nature and simple character, I couldn’t deny I carried a burden of guilt for messing with him and inadvertently ruining something pure.

So, I continued avoiding him because I couldn’t really look him in the eye.

* * *

On the rented bus ride, I made sure to sit in the front, next to the coach. The rowdiest players always occupied the back seats anyway, especially on longer trips, but this time Bokuto looked out of place among the loud bunch. He seemed pale and tired, a ghost of himself. I can’t recall if he ever missed a practice session before and now he was made to sit one out completely. I wondered if, by making such a radical call, the coach actually made things even worse. By worried looks he occasionally cast towards the back, I think he feared the same.

Once there, we occupied our allotted portion of the grandstands, waiting for all other teams to gather and the games to begin. Some of the guys were already in their jerseys, looking for opportunities to start with warm-up routines, but not Bokuto. He was sitting alone in his tracksuit, uncharacteristically statute-like, watching the volleyball court below but not really seeing it. Usually, he would be the first one down there. I could only guess at what went on in his head.

His golden orbs shifted without a warning and established an unexpected eye-contact with me, making me flinch where I stood, several seat rows away. I hurriedly looked away, pretending to be rummaging through my bag. This was ridiculous. Just then my phone vibrated.

_(Can we meet outside?)_

I cast a sideway glance at Bokuto, feeling the weight of his gaze like a stone on my shoulders. Of course he saw me read his message. The vast hall was filling up with spectators and players who were collectively making a lot of ruckus all around us, but I felt isolated and pinned under his hyper-focused attention.

Since I didn’t react, another message arrived while I was still holding the phone in my hands:

_(Please)_

I couldn’t let him hope in vain so I forced myself to look at him and shake my head firmly, praying that my expression was resolute enough to discourage him. His hair was already out of place this morning, but now it seemed like he didn’t style it at all, and dark patches of skin below his tired eyes only accentuated how bloodless his face was. I have never seen a more pleading look but I couldn’t keep giving in to him, it would be a road to disaster.

Instead, I sat next to my bag, getting pointedly lost in some papers I dug out. From where he was sitting, Bokuto couldn’t see it was a Tokyo train schedule, held upside down, that captivated my full attention.

* * *

The first game was a disaster.

Before he finally got benched, the ace blundered, missed and failed until he collided with our libero and almost crushed the lithe man under his weight. The coach kept him in the game, giving him a chance to push through his mental barriers, but when Bokuto’s inattention nearly injured a teammate, he had to draw the line.

Bokuto limped out without a protest and sat heavily down with elbows resting on his knees and a towel draped over his head to avoid looking at his friends, his fans, the world. There wasn’t an ounce of confidence in the way his big shoulders slumped. He, who lived for the crowd, was shutting them out and I believe it took all he had in him not to leave the sidelines too.

The team couldn’t compensate for the handicap and we ended up losing the first bout, doused in a specific bitterness of a missed chance you know you could have bagged. Volleyball was a team sport and it was teams who won or lost, but this one relied heavily on the ace. The captain meekly patted Bokuto’s hunched back, saying that there will always be the next game, but he didn’t sound too convinced. The next game was in a couple of hours and the opponents were a power-house.

I urged the players to get a light lunch and a rest, making sure nobody left any personal belongings behind. Or that nobody got left behind.

Seeing that no one else wanted to deal with his melancholy and knowing everyone was already halfway to the dining hall, I tentatively came up to Bokuto.

“Aren’t you hungry?”

Staring blankly ahead, he didn’t even look at me, only shook his head. If it were anyone else, I would think they were over-dramatizing but I knew him well enough to tell this was not acting. He was in a pit.

“You should eat something anyway,” It was hard to believe I had to prompt Bokuto’s appetite.

“What’s the point? I am not going to play anymore today,” he said dejectedly and suddenly turned his head to me, a spark of frustration and sadness glinting in his eyes, “Why are you avoiding me?”

Denying would be impossible so I just sighed.

“I can’t,” I shook my head taking an unsteady step back before he could say anything more, fearing my feet would trip over the tangled mess I’ve made, “I just can’t, ok? Lunch hall is down the corridor on the right.”

I said as I departed in a rush, feeling his gaze on my back all the way out.

* * *

I skipped lunch with the team, opting instead for a quick snack I bought at a nearby kombini store and ate in a park. The food had no taste and I had no real interest in my surroundings, feeling as restless as our ace. I just needed some fresh air to collect my thoughts and to be away from the din and the muddle I was in.

Bokuto’s eyes nevertheless haunted me; the lustful, heavy-lidded ones just before he kissed me, the doleful ones that sought my attention in vain. I was the one who initiated the whole thing, confused him and, from his perspective, now refused to play by the established rules.

I didn’t see a way out of the conundrum, no way to make things right.

So, when I returned to the venue, I headed straight for the toilet and remained locked in a booth until noises in the halls announced that most of the scattered onlookers and players were returning. Only then I snuck out and returned to our temporary camp. Spotting an empty seat next to the coach, I settled there and discretely looked around. I was worried about Bokuto, wondering what kind of state he was in, feeling I _did_ owe him at least an explanation even though I had a hard time explaining the whole chain of events to myself.

However, the ace was nowhere in sight.

As if he read my thoughts, the coach asked:

“Have you seen Bokuto?”

“No, sir,” I promptly replied. Maybe it was only my paranoia, but the old man held and scrutinized my gaze like a lie detector, before turning his attention to a roster he was holding. I saw that he planned to include Bokuto in the game regardless of his earlier fiasco. He must have been desperate to form a decent offense against our next opponents.

He shook his head thoughtfully, “Nothing good can come out of that boy skipping lunch. You wouldn’t know where he is?”

“No, sir,” I repeated with a sinking feeling in my gut. I was also nowhere around during lunch. Hopefully, he doesn't think that we were... My phone beeped with a new message:

_(Can we just talk? Please?? I am outside)_

I read the text, as did the coach. Our eyes met.

“You have keys to the bus, right?” he leaned towards me conspiratorially, making sure I understood the essence of his instructions, “Go talk to him, walk with him, do whatever you do to make him get back on track. We need him sharp and perky for this game.”

I felt a rapid blush spread up my neck and cheeks, realizing that the perceptive old fox knew there was something going on all along and not giving a hoot, as long as it boosted his best player's performance.

“Yes, sir,” I said quietly, my hand trembling as I put my phone away and searched my pocket for the keys.

He knew about us.

* * *

There _was_ no _us,_ I mumbled to myself as I stomped down the corridor towards an exit. Even if I wanted or could do anything, time was not on my side, and that was a big _if._

Just outside, leaning against a wall and staring attentively at his phone screen was our ace, waiting for a reply that wasn’t arriving.

“You came,” he said in a cracked voice, taking a step towards me with a hopeful expression.

“Let’s go,” I passed him by, eager to have as little witnesses as possible seeing us disappear into a parked bus. My steps turned into quick strides.

“Wait, where are we going?” Bokuto asked but moved his feet, seeing he would be left behind.

“The bus,” I pulled the key out of my pocket and shoved it in a lock, hearing his steps stop short.

“I don’t want to go in,” he said gravely and I turned in a genuine surprise. Bokuto was standing couple of steps away, examining me with tired, careful eyes. Seeing my baffled look he slowly approached, stopped before me and sighed, “I just want you to hear me out.”

He must have interpreted my confused blinking as an encouragement to elaborate, so he continued, “Look, I’ve been thinking about our, erm,…”

He nervously scratched his head, unable to find the right words. He finally rested his hands on his hips, sighed and carried on with a flustered hue.

“Well, I liked it. I mean, _all_ of it,” he added pointedly, then hesitated, “And thought you liked me too.”

Bokuto’s eyes probed mine, sweeping across my face for any reaction. I felt like a block of ice, unable to process what I was hearing, incapable of arranging my thoughts.

Getting no feedback, he persisted in a quieter voice, “I have tried not to get us in trouble with the captain and the coach but I cannot keep pretending that nothing is going on between us…”, he added unsurely, “Something _is_ going on, right?”

In a daze, I felt my head nod and saw a smile light up Bokuto’s entire face. I didn’t realize how much I missed that beam of light.

“Something good, right?” he energetically insisted with a gleam in his golden orbs, his stature straightening and growing before my eyes.

I nodded again, my heart pounding wildly. It seemed there _was_ us, after all.

As if a dam gave way, a flood of relieved words came out of his mouth while he shook his black and white tresses emphatically, waving his hands through the air, “I think about you all the time. It’s CRAZY! And then I see you but cannot talk to you or touch you… I just CANNOT concentrate on anything.”

He was adorably candid in his weird, hyper way. I recalled all those times he tried to approach me during training, risking reprimands and admonishments, and bit my lip until the pain brought me back to the present moment. I wanted to make it up to him, needed to connect but the open parking lot was definitely not the right place.

My hand slid the bus door open and I climbed in, beckoning Bokuto to follow. He did, eagerly, a new hope burning in his every movement while he closed the door behind him.

“Sorry… I didn't mean to ignore you... ” I trailed off, unsure how to phrase what I wanted to convey.

“It’s ok, I know the coach can be REALLY strict sometimes, but he won’t cause you troubles” Bokuto shifted closer, into my personal space, beaming with newfound energy, “If we see each other in our free time, he won't even know. I’ve got it all planned out, don’t worry. I will not even so much as look at you while he’s around.”

Listening to his eager elaborations about how he planned to protect me from the big bad coach while completely disregarding his own reputation, struck a tender chord in me. He was genuine and pure, giving himself one hundred percent because that was the only way he knew how, and I felt undeserving of his affection.

Something must have changed on my face because his barrage of words ceased and he studied me with an utter focus just before he slowly leaned in and kissed me, as if testing if he was allowed to. When my lips parted to let him in, he put his hands on my shoulders and pulled me to his body, deepening the connection. This time, however, our hands joined the magic, touching each other clumsily but with genuine hunger.

“We don’t have much time,” I mumbled against his hot lips, painfully aware that we should be heading back already even though I didn’t get anywhere near enough of him.

“It doesn’t matter,” Bokuto murmured with closed eyes, completely absorbed in sliding his lips across my neck, seemingly hypnotized by the scent of my skin and hair. “I am not playing anyway.”

“Yes, you are, I saw the roster,” I gently pushed him away to meet his wide eyes.

“Really?” he shouted, then flashed a feral grin, “Great! Bring them on! I feel I can defeat anybody now!”

“Don’t go just yet,” I said quietly, pulling him by the hand to the nearest double seats. Realizing what was on my mind, he protested.

“You don’t need to do that, I already got everything I wanted. You have no idea how much I just … ummm…” he smiled with assurance, launching into another stream of words, but my lips stopped him, my body slowly but relentlessly pushing him down into the seat.

I believed I didn’t _need_ to do anything more, the man was practically bending space with power and confidence, but I _wanted_ to, and I couldn’t think of a better opportunity than this one. Waiting to get back to Tokyo and its love hotels would just be torture for both of us.

Half-laying, half-sitting, Bokuto silently observed me pull his shorts and boxers down his strong thighs and prop myself up, towards his cock. After all, this was already a charted territory for me. I took him in my hand, finally observing its impressive close-up before my tongue licked the taut surface as if it were a lollipop. It was hot and salty from sweat and so, so enticing.

“Heeeey… ooohhmmm,” Bokuto’s surprised yelp soon turned into a grunt of satisfaction when my mouth and lips eagerly joined the game, taking him to places that messed with his head, broke down his self-restraint and eradicated all traces of his sullen mood.

It didn’t take long at all.

“I’m… OOOOooohh, I’m going to…,” he panted almost in a panic, the heartbeat in his chest transferring through his skin to mine like a drum, and I just smiled, sucking on his dick with fervor. The sight before me was divine as Bokuto’s powerful body rippled and flexed under my ministrations, the noises he made absolutely feral.

One of his hands absentmindedly stroked my hair with less and less coordination, while his face obtained an almost pained expression of a desperate need. There was no stopping the tide now. So much about him already getting everything he needed – he exploded into my mouth like a cannon in mere two minutes. He was starved, maybe even in one week-long abstinence. No wonder he couldn’t concentrate on the game!

Letting him recuperate for a moment, I reminded: “We should get going…” just as my phone rang.

Of course, it was the coach.

“Oh, yeah, the game!” Bokuto pulled his shorts up and sprang to his feet, eager to go. But not before he leaned in to give me a short but passionate kiss. A promise of more to come. The warmth in his eyes was the sun radiating its ferocious power, both the nurturer and the destroyer. He was, again, a force to be reckoned with. I felt sorry for his opponents.

As we rushed outside and ran across the parking lot, our feet so much lighter, Bokuto commented with a stern expression: “You better go in after me so nobody figures out we were together.”

And then added with a grimace, as if he only now realized, “The coach is going to kill me if he finds out!”

Smiling widely and flying next to him, I retorted, “You know, I don’t think he will.”

THE END


End file.
